


Unguarded

by glorious_spoon



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet, Established Relationship, F/M, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Podfic Available, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22244188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon
Summary: “You really do like that,” she says. It comes out breathless and wondering rather than teasing like she means it to. “Don’t you?”(Yennefer pegs Geralt. That's it, that's the fic.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 35
Kudos: 390





	Unguarded

Yennefer smoothes a hand up his back, watching the shift of his shoulders, scarred skin over muscle and bone and the pale spill of his hair against the pillow. From this angle, she can’t see his face, and she’s not sure whether or not that’s intentional. Geralt is a guarded man, up until he decides not to be. “Have you ever done this before?”

“Have you?” The retort is muffled by the pillowcase, but there’s an edge of humor there that makes her relax.

“I know what I’m doing,” she says, reaching for the small bottle already uncorked on the side table. “Trust me.”

He doesn’t tell her that he trusts her, _of course I do, darling, how could I not with you so lovely_. He knows her better than that. Instead, he laughs softly as she slicks her fingers, a laugh that chokes off into a groan when she presses two of them into him, careful and slow. “I’ve done it before,” he rasps. And then, challenging, “I won’t break.”

“I like to take my time.”

“By all means,” Geralt says, but he’s shifting against the mattress and when she crooks her fingers just _so_ he shoves back against them, cursing under his breath. He’s not looking at her, so Yennefer doesn’t try to control her expression, her delighted grin at the sight of him coming undone beneath her.

It’s not often that she’s afforded the opportunity to be greedy like this. She does it again, watching his reaction. “Is that good?”

“Yeah, it’s— _fuck_ ,” Geralt mumbles, and rolls his forehead against the pillow. His big hands grip the edge of the mattress, fingers digging in deep. She leans down to press a kiss to the nape of his neck, sweet and lingering and still a bit dangerous with him so open and vulnerable like this. The polished wooden phallus she’s already got seated in the harness around her hips drags against his back and he makes an unguarded, broken noise in the back of his throat. “Yenn—”

“I’ve got you, don’t be so impatient,” she says before any unearned tenderness can spill from his lips in the moment. She’s a little faster than she needs to be, maybe, when she pulls her fingers out, and Geralt twitches beneath her but doesn’t protest.

She slicks up the phallus liberally and grips the base to guide it in, still so slow, watching for any signs of discomfort. There are none; he opens up for her beautifully. He really has done this before, which—surprises her, more than perhaps it should. She wants to ask if he’s only been taken this way by women, but that’s a conversation for another time. For now, she has Geralt beneath her, braced up on his elbows and knees and breathing in deep gulps of air as he adjusts to the intrusion, and that’s a sight that demands her full attention. When she rocks slightly a low moan escapes his throat like it’s been dragged out of him.

“You really do like that,” she says. It comes out breathless and wondering rather than teasing like she means it to. “Don’t you?”

He breathes out laughter, slipping one hand between his spread legs to stroke himself, light lingering strokes like he’s trying to draw out the sensation. The smooth base of the phallus pushes against her clit as she moves. It’s not going to be enough to get her off, but it makes a slow, sweet pleasure pool between her thighs.

He expects her to be rough with him, she thinks, by the way he braces himself against the mattress, but it's not entirely contrariness that makes her gentle instead, rocking into him with a rhythm both slow and relentless, petting up and down the dip and curve of his spine, dragging her fingers through his hair carefully instead of tugging. Geralt drops his head, cursing in a low, rough voice; he's stroking himself faster now, and she endeavors to match his rhythm, gripping his hips to brace herself and murmuring endearments against his skin that she half hopes he's too far gone to overhear. She can feel her own arousal slicking her cunt and making every press of the phallus as she drives into him maddening, so close to the pressure and friction she needs.

Geralt gasps her name, and then breathes, "Fuck, there, like that—" and goes tense and silent and shaking as he comes, spilling over his fingers and the sheets beneath them.

 _Next time I'll have him on his back so I can see it properly,_ Yennefer thinks, and it's a dangerous thought, _next time_. She pulls out, soothing a hand over his hip when he makes a half-swallowed noise of protest, then fumbles at the straps of the harness, her fingers made clumsy with haste.

Suddenly Geralt’s hands are there, tugging the buckles loose and hauling the whole harness off to leave her bare to the cool air. Just for a moment, before he lifts her effortlessly up against the wall, and she slams her hands back to brace herself as he pushes his face between her legs, sucking at her like a ripe peach. It’s rougher than he usually is, but she’s so on edge that she doesn’t even care; she hooks her feet together behind his broad shoulders and throws her head back against the wall and cries out shamelessly when she finally comes.

Her legs feel like jelly when he eases her down, and they tumble together on the tangled sheets in a sweaty sprawl of limbs. Normally, this would be the moment when Geralt immediately starts gathering his clothes, buttoning himself back up to the cold and unfeeling witcher he likes to pretend he is; it would be the moment for Yennefer to arrange herself attractively on the bed and make some sweetly cutting remark as she watches him walk away, yet again.

Geralt doesn’t move, though. His hand rests warm and heavy between her shoulders; she can feel his heartbeat beneath her cheek, still unnaturally slow after all of this. After a time, he dips his head enough to press a kiss to the crown of her head, and Yennefer closes her eyes.

“Will you stay?” she asks eventually without moving to look at him.

His sigh ruffles her hair. He doesn't answer, but his arm curves around her back to pull her closer.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/glorious_spoon) or [Tumblr](https://glorious-spoon.tumblr.com/)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Unguarded](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23542801) by [Chantress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chantress/pseuds/Chantress)




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